


don't ask if i'm happy, at most i'm not sad

by orphan_account



Series: we're on a quick, sick rampage [10]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bittybones (Undertale), Angst, Lamia Bittybones, Minor Injuries, Other, Sad Ending, lamiatale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A Corny lamia bittybones gets adopted– by an owner who’s all wrong for him. Premised on writing about an adoption that would be a bad fit for all involved.





	don't ask if i'm happy, at most i'm not sad

**Author's Note:**

> Lamia bittybones, and Corny, belong to vex-bittys. Thanks as always for your creation! I thought I might try some emotional pain this time, rather than physical...

“What do you want?” you asked, barely looking up from the screen of your phone. The lamia bittybones you had the misfortune to call “yours” had finally tugged at your sleeve, after waving his hands from the floor, and then slithering all the way up to your desktop to get your attention.  
  
“um… food please…” the Corny lamia said, so quietly you could barely hear him. You rolled your eyes, irritated to be made to look away from Twitter, and got up from your desk chair. You kept a variety of small boxes of sugary cereal in your room for just this reason, so you ripped the top off of a single-serving container of Frosted Flakes. He really could have gotten it himself, but for some reason, he wanted you to get it for him.  
  
“There you go. Now be quiet, I’m trying to do something,” you said, placing the cereal in the cage that took up one corner of your room. You left the cage door open when you were at home, because you weren’t an absolute monster, but you didn’t want crumbs all over the floor, either. The little Corny slithered into his cage slowly, as he did everything, and began crunching the dry cereal. You sighed, feeling particularly woeful about your lot in life, and sat back down to look at your phone.  
  
You really hadn’t wanted a Corny at all, you reminded yourself. You’d done your research before going to the shop, but your mother had instantly vetoed your preference of a King or a Mamba (the lamias you’d deemed “cool” enough). Instead, she steered you toward one of the more “safe” breeds, narrowing your choices significantly. There was no way in hell you were going to put up with the absolute madness of a Pygmy zooming everywhere like a loser, and a Coral or Honey Bo didn’t appeal because everyone knew that the tsundere, aloof attitude was so last year. Papythons were just all-around lame— you felt like having one would be like having your least favorite teacher as a pet, all righteous and helpful all the time. The Kraits got another veto, due to their instantly deadly venom (which would have been awesome, you pouted). That left you with… the Cornies. They were possibly the most boring lamias there were, with their plain coloring and lazy personalities, but you had supposed at the time that they were the lesser of the many evils you had to choose from. You’d faked a smile and let one of the little lamias crawl into your hoodie pocket, but deep down, you weren’t really feeling any joy. The shop assistant had assured you that a Corny was a great pet, both funny and easygoing, so how bad could it be?  
  
Pretty bad, as it turned out. Your particular Corny had been adopted three weeks ago, and you had been wishing a plane engine would Donnie Darko your house for approximately twenty days. Okay, that was hyperbolic, but pet ownership was not the fun experience you’d expected. The Corny was incredibly lazy— you liked sleep plenty, but he literally never wanted to do anything. Worse, when the shop worker told you they were “funny,” she failed to mention that the humor in question came only in the form of puns and pranks, both categories you abhorred. The first time the lamia spoke to you, when you released him from his temporary cardboard carrier in your room, was to tell you that he was glad you’d picked him, because he’d been “very  _BONEly_.” You’d barely stopped yourself from face palming, but had instituted a “no stupid puns, and all puns are stupid so just don’t” rule from then on.  
  
You couldn’t show the Corny to your friends, either— he wasn’t cute OR cool, didn’t do any tricks, and at best they’d laugh at him, but at worst they’d laugh at YOU. Since you weren’t much for being made fun of, the lamia stayed in his cage when you weren’t home, and in your room when you were (by parental decree). Your parents hadn’t really inquired about him, since they were both scared of snakes; the lamia bitty idea had been a compromise for getting you a real snake, and you felt like you’d gotten it wrong. You had refrained from naming the Corny from day one, in the hopes that you might be able to trade him in for something cooler (even though your mom insisted that you were not going to play musical pets). Maybe someone else would like his weird puns and plain appearance, but it wasn’t going to be you.  
  
Cornies apparently could barely speak without punning, because yours (sigh) was almost entirely silent except when asking for food or water. You felt slightly uneasy sleeping with him in the room, since you never knew when he’d be awake and watching you. The first couple nights, you’d tried leaving the cage open when you went to bed so he could move around more, but more than once you’d startled awake with the lamia curled on top of your hair, or twined around your wrist, and your screams had woken the whole house. “No touching without prior warning” thus became the second rule of you and the Corny’s uneasy truce.  
  
That just about brought you up to now. Seemingly finished stuffing his face, the lamia bitty had curled up on his blanket in a patch of sunlight coming through the window. Sleeping again, you thought, rolling your eyes. You’d tried to play with him, really you had, but he never seemed interested in toys or games. All in all, he just didn’t do anything, ever, and it was driving you insane.  
  
You sighed deeply, and went downstairs to scope out dinner. Both your parents were working late, so you were on your own tonight. Not for the first time, you wished your older brother still lived at home, so you’d have a friend to talk to about your concerns and feelings (not to mention drive you to pick up food). Sadly, he was off at college, where you’d be going in just two years. You reminisced on your fun memories of hanging out with him as you decided that fish sticks and tater tots were the house special tonight, heated up the oven, and put the food inside.  
  
Maybe you ought to let the Corny come downstairs and eat with you, at least while everyone was gone, you thought. He wasn’t allowed in any rooms other than yours, by order of your parents, but you felt just the tiniest bit bad for leaving him in such a small space all the time. You walked upstairs to your room and saw that the lamia was no longer sleeping. “Uh, hey, I’m going to eat if you wanna come hang out. Just… don’t go anywhere I can’t see you,” you finished lamely, holding out your sweater-covered arm for him to wrap around.  
  
The Corny didn’t answer verbally, but slithered up your hand to cling to your sleeve. You returned downstairs and placed the lamia on the living room ottoman, where you could monitor him without having to actually sit beside him, and turned the TV to a comedy special. It was an old Margaret Cho stand-up, and you half listened as you scrolled through Instagram. The Corny, however, was riveted— he snickered at every punch line, and even sat up on his tail for a better view. It was the first time you’d seen him actually interested in something.  
  
The timer for the food went off, and you removed it from the oven, letting it cool before making yourself a plate and bringing it back in front of the TV. You were in the middle of chewing a fish stick when you realized that the Corny was not on the ottoman anymore, and that you couldn’t see where he was. This miniature heart attack lasted for a few seconds, until you felt a strange weight on your leg, over your pants. Then your heart attack began in earnest. Your hands flailed, lashing out in fear and self-defense, shoving the Corny off of your leg, where he had been trying to… offer you something, maybe? Whatever it had been, your fingers were now uncomfortably hot, and you’d smashed the offering against the lamia’s skeletal face as well as pushing him onto the floor. He cried out in pain, and you recoiled.  
  
A tater tot. For some reason, the Corny had been trying to give you a tater tot, probably taken from the cooking tray. Unfortunately, the little potato nuggets were still hot inside, and you’d managed to slightly singe both your fingers and the bitty’s cheek. “What were you DOING?” you shouted, your anger probably disproportionate to the situation, but you couldn’t contain it— your finger stung, and the Corny was crying, and none of it would have happened if he had just respected your rule and not randomly crawled up onto your lap.  
  
“i was just… trying to give you a present,” he murmured, tears slowing as he realized he wasn’t really very injured at all. “i like tater tots. figured you would too. guess not, heh… didn’t mean to  _irri-tater_  you,” he finished, shrugging his hoodie-covered shoulders.  
  
You summoned all your tolerance to ignore the pun and respond. “I like tater tots just fine, that’s why I had my own serving on my own plate. I mean, why did you touch me like that?”  
  
“why did you adopt me, if you don’t even like me?” the Corny countered.  
  
“Because—“ and here you cut yourself off. You had your reasons, but there was no reason for being nasty. Besides, just beginning to answer was confirmation enough that you really DIDN’T like him, and you saw the little lamia’s whole face fall. “Look, that’s not a conversation we need to have. Let’s just… fix up your face, and then go to bed.”  
  
The Corny was silent as you carried him over to the sink, wiped the tater tot residue off his cheek, and then applied cream to the minor burn. He didn’t seem to have any other injuries, so you called the job done and shut off the kitchen lights, and walked the lamia bitty up the stairs. As you went to deposit him in his cage, he spoke up again. “no really, why’d you pick me if you can’t stand me?” he asked, and you answered without thinking.  
  
“You’re just… not what I wanted,” you said, willing away your guilt and gently closing the door. You changed into your pajamas and turned off your lamp, getting ready to sleep.  
  
“yeah… same,” the Corny responded, so quietly you could barely hear him.  
  
You didn’t sleep well that night.  
  
The next morning, you found a reasonably sized box and placed the Corny inside, leaving with him his clothing, a bitty-sized blanket, and the last single-serve box of Frosted Flakes. He didn’t ask any questions about what you were doing, nor did he seem particularly concerned.  
  
You caught the city bus to the shopping district, and approached the lamia bitty shop apprehensively. You knew this was best for both you and the Corny, and that giving him back was the best chance for you both to do better next time around. 

He could find the right owner, one who was just as punny and lazy as he was, one who would think he was handsome and be proud to take him out in public.

As for you, you planned to wait until you moved out and then get a real snake as a pet; something you could love that didn’t come with the strange sentience the lamia bitties possessed.. It was the best choice for all involved, you reminded yourself, as you slowly pulled the door open and walked inside.

**Author's Note:**

> I value every comment, and love to hear suggestions!


End file.
